


Baths

by yeaka



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Slavery, M/M, Mild Foot Fetish, Mild Foot Jobs, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus accidentally tempts Esca by washing his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hammer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hammer/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for Akumaslave’s “Marcus washes Esca's feet. Marcus is still the master, and they're both getting turned on.” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/). This is the second round because I misread the first one. ^^; This isn’t historically accurate.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Eagle or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s nearly dusk by the time he gets back to his room, having spent half the day talking with his uncle about his father’s past. Some things he’s proud to learn, and others give him pause and difficult questions, but mostly it leaves him feeling as melancholy as when he started. The fading glow of the sun still lights his way down the stone corridors, not yet in need of a torch. He finds Esca in his room, which shouldn’t surprise him.

But somehow, he’s yet to see this. Esca on his hands and knees, that is, bent over Esca’s floor with a basin of water and a rag, scrubbing vigorously at the cracks. Perhaps Esca has always waited for Marcus to either be asleep or out, so there is no Roman witness to his servitude.

Esca must hear him coming but doesn’t bothering look up. On instinct, Marcus says, “You don’t have to do that.” Guilt gnaws at him, though of course, he should know that _someone_ must keep the house clean. Of course it would be servants. But Esca...

Marcus never wants to see Esca bent and broken. Esca says tonelessly, without looking at Marcus, “Your uncle would disagree.” It’s an impertinent answer, but so is most of Esca’s dialogue. Marcus never rises to the challenge.

He only shakes his head and mutters, “I am sorry.” For what, he doesn’t know. He finds himself wincing; he _hates_ making note of Esca’s position; he never _asked_ for a slave, but it makes Esca finally uncoil from the floor and look back at him. There’s a resignation on Esca’s face: this is his life now. He looks at Marcus speculatively, then returns to his task. 

For a very, very brief moment, Marcus thinks of falling to his knees and helping Esca. But of course, that isn’t how things are done. He could never explain himself if he were caught, and it would be willfully lowering himself. In the wake of his thoughts, his leg aches, and he has to take himself over to the bed to sit down.

There, he stretches to unlace his sandals, noting with another wince that the soles of his feet are dirty from the walk he took through the gardens earlier. The underside of his sandals are probably worse—he can only hope he didn’t drag mud in and add to Esca’s work.

He’s unlacing the ties of the second one when Esca glances over at him, eyes sliding down to his feet, and offers, “I can wash you when I’m finished.”

 _Wash you._ The very idea makes Marcus shiver in his skin, like he always does. He can only imagine what Esca must think of him in all those times he’s naked and exposed—washing now, dressing during the height of his injury, the rare occasion they take a dip in the lake after a long hunt. Is there any, even remote, chance that Esca might find his body pleasing? He’s a soldier, and he’s spent his life straining for peak condition, and he certainly finds Esca’s body... more than pleasing. Or does Esca seem him as only a monster? Esca has no love for Romans.

Marcus, a hint of bitterness in his voice, says, “That won’t be necessary.”

“I’ll do it.” Marcus looks over, though Esca’s looked away. The offer was fierce, nearly a growl. Sometimes Marcus almost wonders who the true master is, but then he wanders in to find his slave cleaning his floors, and that illusion’s shattered.

When Marcus looks at Esca’s feet, they’re even dirtier than his own. He wonders stupidly who washes slaves, then corrects himself and wonders, instead, when Esca has the time or care to bother washing himself. Marcus would offer to do it but knows how unwelcome that would be.

He could, perhaps, do a fraction of it, though.

Before he can stop himself, he’s called, “Esca.” The name flows too easily off his tongue. Esca looks up at him, and he pats the bed beside himself. “Come here.”

For a moment, Esca’s eyes steel over, and Marcus’ throat tightens; he didn’t mean for _that_. Esca still stands, ramrod straight, and comes towards the bed, with a sort of restrained fire below his muscles and face. As soon as he sits on the bed—already a crossed line for a slave—Marcus slips off, so there won’t be any confusion.

He sits, instead, at Esca’s feet, and moves to kneel between Esca’s legs, though he has to stretch one of his own so as not to provoke his old woud. Esca looks surprised before catching himself, and Marcus tries to look as non-threatening as possible. As much as he’s wanted Esca in his bed, since the moment he first laid eyes on the brave Briton in the pit to every other moment of every day, he would never force that of a slave.

When he reaches out for the basin, having to stretch and flex his arm to stay where he is, he can see Esca’s confusion out the corner of his eye. He gathers the water and the rag and draws them to his side. He can sense Esca wanting to ask what he’s about to do, and he’s not even sure himself. He’s moving mostly on a whim, because if he stops to think about it, he knows he’ll be mired down in _why_.

He dips the rag into the water and lets it absorb as much as it can, then lifts it out to twist and squeeze. As soon as he brings the moist cloth to the top of Esca’s bare foot, Esca mutters below his breath, “You shouldn’t.” Marcus can only be glad he’s left off ‘ _Master_.’

Marcus looks up, meaning to ask but somehow stating: “Please let me do this.” He presses the rag between Esca’s ankles and watches the swift rise of Esca’s chest. His side is aglow from where the fading sun is streaming in through the windows and half-opened doors. The water is a little cold, but Esca hardly recoils. He looks down at Marcus, and, for once, doesn’t look like he knows everything, all the truth of the world.

For a little while, they’re quiet. Esca is stiff in Marcus’ hands, fingers clenching onto the side of the cot while Marcus rubs the cloth up and down Esca’s foot, scraping away the lingering bruises of dirt. He scrubs across the broad top, ducks around the hard curves of the sides, tilts it up to ghost along Esca’s heel, hardened from overuse. The more he works, the more Esca gradually loosens, slowly relaxing, until Esca’s foot isn’t so much braced in Marcus’ lap as limp in his changing grasp. By the time he gets to Esca’s toes, Marcus is too engrossed in his task to do anything but a thorough job, and he pays each digit full attention. He drags fresh water along the tops and twists the cloth around one toe at a time, until Esca’s pale skin is as clear on his feet as the rest of him.

Finally, he switches to the other foot, satisfied that the first has been thoroughly massaged and cleaned. In a way, he already wishes he could make this task last longer—anything to stay by Esca’s side, smell the raw musk of Esca’s body and listen to the steady rhythm of Esca’s breath, even if it is spent kneeling between his slave’s legs. He doesn’t even mind that shameful position as much as he should. But he’s milked it as much as he can, and he’s inevitably passed the halfway point.

He’s scrubbing away at the arch of Esca’s heel when Esca breaks the silence, asking with a hard edge, “Why would a Roman want to touch a filthy Briton’s wretched feet?” He says it so steadily. Marcus wants to scowl on Esca’s behalf. He already knows his views on Britons need a bit of... work.

In some ways, his life was so much _easier_ before he met Esca. But he can’t go back now, and he’ll never be quite the ideal Roman soldier he once dreamed of. And he’s already come this far into his disgrace. He wants to say that he doesn’t think of Esca that way _at all_ , but he doesn’t have the words.

Instead, he finds himself shuffling back along the floor, giving him space to bend over. He places a palm beneath Esca’s ankles and lifts Esca’s foot, still scraped with dirt in places but pink-red from being scrubbed and glistening with fresh water in others. Before he can stop himself, he’s leaning forward, and he seals his lips to the soft flesh of Esca’s foot, pressing in a kiss to show his adoration and perhaps his willingness to submit. He never _asked_ to dominate Esca, though, of course, he’s hardly the victim.

Above him, Esca has a faint hitch of breath, and when Marcus does remove his mouth, he glances up to find Esca’s cheeks flushed. Perhaps he liked Marcus’ tribute. Of course Marcus did; he always wants Esca; he’ll take any excuse to put his mouth to Esca’s body. But it also feels like a chance to show he can give that attention without holding dominion over Esca, and he bends to do it again.

He lingers on the next kiss, lands it right above Esca’s toes, and there’s a grunt from above that sounds like approval, followed by Esca’s foot twitching up, nearly kicking him in the chin. Marcus opens his mouth wider, letting his tongue dip out to press hard into Esca’s skin, not caring if it brings him back the lingering remnants of dirt. Esca’s next sound is a barely restrained moan, and Marcus drags his tongue lower, licking at the seams between toes. He knows it’s a degrading act. Knows this is debasing him. But with _Esca_ , he just can’t _care_ , and it feels surprisingly _right_ to kneel before Esca and worship his feet.

When Marcus opens his mouth to engulf Esca’s biggest toe, Esca’s fingers brush into his hair. He looks up, lips locked around the single digit, and Esca’s even more flushed and beautiful, eyes hazy as his hands stroke back through Marcus’ hair, tightening. Marcus relinquishes his hold only to draw his mouth to the next toe, and Esca’s firm grip holds him down. He licks at each of Esca’s toes in turn, sucking them into his mouth and suckling on them, finding the taste not as unpleasant as he might’ve thought, and the task itself bizarrely enjoyable. Of course, his pleasure might just come from having Esca’s hands on him, encouraging him to continue.

When Marcus is done one foot, he tilts it up to drag his tongue along the underside and laps his way to the other foot, pulling it up for the same treatment and pressing his mouth to the side. This one is already washed, and Marcus almost misses his excuse of licking Esca clean. He’s lightly drawing his teeth across Esca’s ankle when Esca hisses, “ _Marcus._ ”

Marcus looks up, cheek pressed to Esca’s leg, but Esca says no more. The first call was husky, breathless, and Marcus would have to be a fool not to see the desire on Esca’s face. The only question is whether it’s an invitation, so all of his movements are slow, never resisting Esca’s grasp.

He kisses over Esca’s ankle. Then he kisses higher, into the fabric covering Esca’s knee. He trails moist pecks all along Esca’s thigh, while Esca’s legs spread wider and wider to accommodate. He gradually makes his way to Esca’s crotch, already bulging to meet him. He can’t help but press his whole face into it, inhaling as he opens his mouth wide, trying to taste Esca through the braccae, and he can already feel the tenderness of Esca’s flesh and the stiffness of Esca’s cock. He knows how sinful it all is, but he wants it _so desperately_ , and he never really thought he had a chance. Esca jerks him back by the hair, tilting his face up and holding him steady.

Marcus obediently opens his mouth, just waiting to be taken. It feels too _right_ to have Esca pull his hair. Esca licks his beautiful lips, turning the soft pink lines red.

He shifts forward, ducking to press his mouth to Marcus’, and Marcus moans into it with an avalanche of lust. It’s all he can do to stay on his knees; he wants to lunge up and push Esca down into the cot and fuck him mercilessly hard, horribly claim Esca in the name of Rome and own him _forever_.

But more than that, Marcus wants to please Esca, so he only kisses back as much as he’s allowed. The kiss is awkwardly positioned but warm, soft, and perfect, almost chaste, with just a little bit of tongue. When Esca pulls back, Marcus whines and tries to follow.

Esca’s hands keep him back, though one leaves to fiddle with the tie of his braccae, and Marcus stops his keening noises, now fixed on a new target.

Hurriedly, Esca gets his braccae open enough to dip his hand inside, grip his hard cock and pull it out for Marcus to see. It’s thin but long, flushed pink with little rivulets of veins, the head already peeking through the foreskin. Marcus makes an inhuman noise, one thick with lust and longing, and he knows right now that any shred of Roman pride he has left is going right out the window.

That should please Esca. The thought only urges Marcus on. If he would lick Esca’s feet, why shouldn’t he lick Esca’s cock? The more he stares at it, the more he wants it, and Esca starts to pull him forward, guiding him down. Marcus keeps his jaw wide. He’s done this before, only once or twice, when he was much younger and serving greater men, kept quiet in the army, something never reciprocated. It’s not something meant to please the one kneeling, but Marcus finds himself excited. As soon as the head pops into his mouth, he’s closing around it and sucking _hard_ , closing his eyes to moan—yes, _that’s_ what he wanted; Esca’s toes were good but this is _ecstasy_. His hands fist against the ground; he wants to lift them and hold the rest of Esca, play with Esca’s soft balls or at least cling to Esca’s thighs, but he doesn’t want to presume. He only takes what he’s given, and he lets Esca guide him down little bit by little bit. Soon, the tip is nudging the back of his throat, and it’s all he can take without choking. Esca holds him there and Marcus laps at the underside and suckles harder, eager for the taste.

Beneath him, Esca’s foot shifts along his thigh, trails down to his lap and presses into his tented braccae. He groans around his mouthful, and Esca rewards him with a little push. Marcus winds up jerking his hips forward, first just once, then twice, and soon he’s humping Esca’s foot like a dog, so turned on he could explode at any second.

Esca gives his forehead a little tap, then starts to push him down when he doesn’t get it right away. He’s guided half off and pushed back on, until he takes over on his own, bobbing up and down. His lips stay stretched around it, growing wet with spittle, his teeth held back with care, his tongue busy tasting everything it can. He works his throat to swallow everything, head barely able to conceive the end. He doesn’t want this to end. He gives Esca everything he has, pouring in all of his love and desire into this, and Esca leans over him, moaning and holding onto his head like a chair to be lent on. Marcus doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care if he’s being used. He has Esca’s cock in his mouth, and that’s all he could’ve wished for.

He’s the one to finish first. He isn’t surprised. One minute Esca’s toes are squeezing at him through the fabric, and the next he’s spilling right into his braccae, screaming around Esca’s cock as his hips jerk frantically towards release. A river of bliss twists down his spine, paints everything in white and threatens to blank him out, but he keeps bobbing up and down on Esca’s cock and sucking the whole way through. His hips putter to a stop, his crotch now stained, and Esca keeps massaging him, though his own body slumps in abandon.

A few sucks later, and Esca’s crying out, bending over him and shoving him down, and Marcus chokes as Esca spends himself right onto Marcus’ tongue. Esca’s weight prevents him from pulling free, so all Marcus can do is try to recover himself while Esca’s warm seed pours right down his throat. He can only imagine it gathering in his stomach. It’s a horrible, shameful thing, and yet being full of Esca’s seed makes Marcus shiver in delight and moan his way around Esca’s flagging cock, until Esca gently tugs him off by the hair.

Esca’s cock is beautiful, glistening with spit and red from the attention. Marcus continues to stare at it for a good several seconds before he manages to look up at the better sight: a gorgeous Esca panting his way out of an orgasm.

When Esca regains his breath, he manages, “You spoiled yourself for a Briton, and worse, came from the attention of a lowly Briton’s foot.”

Marcus can only say, “I would do it again.” Because he would. In a heartbeat. The afterglow doesn’t take any of that away; he’d move mountains for Esca, if he could.

He wilts down and rests his cheek on Esca’s thigh. It’s warm and soft, and Esca reaches down to pet his face, brushing his cheek. Esca’s face is full of confliction, but in the end, he bends down to kiss Marcus’ forehead.

Esca murmurs, “You’re like no other Roman.”

Marcus chuckles weakly. It’s an insult, he knows, and a year ago, he would’ve taken it as such. But now, if it makes Esca like him more, he’ll take it.

“...Now, are you going to clean all that saliva off my feet?”

Laughing, Marcus reaches for the rag.


End file.
